Raining over the River
by Sukuangtou
Summary: Arthur falls ill with a heavy fever due to someone polluting England's underground rivers. While France, Canada and America try to calm the delirious nation, Scotland and Wales uncover something far more sinister. Can be seen as brotherly-fluff or love, I don't mind. Rated M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

The garden of Arthur Kirkland was a small one, but that didn't make it any more unloved. The dear little space was cared for with deep affection, Arthur easily able to spent his entire day outside, cutting the grass, sweeping the cobble pathway and pouring his heart out over his beloved roses, the flowers the woman 'married to England' had adored. The bird feeders swayed in the breeze, hanging from the heavy arms of the oak tree that had been standing along with Arthur for centuries, having seen much of the nation's history. A small rabbit hole was nestled between some of its roots, the rabbits living there no longer scared of the gardens owner and often happy to sit with him while he worked, sometimes he'd talk to them, often about work and the way his country was heading.

A robin fluttered onto the bird feeder, pecking at the seeds and scattering a handful onto the ground, were a fluffed squirrel nibbled at them before scampering off to the arched hut that stood snuggled in the bushes. Inside, the unfinished painting of the white cottage house waited for its owner to return, the oils settled within their boxes, the brushes sitting in the beaker of water. An aqua blue dragonfly buzzed onto the corner of the canvas, brushing its head with its needle thick arms.

Above, the grumble of thunder moaned, as if in agony. Dark, murky rain clouds gathered above the peaceful country garden, heavy with water and ready to burst. The dragonfly lifted its body and flew off out the garden and across the wheat fields to escape the falling droplets. A rabbit poked its head out of its hole, sniffing at the dampening air, ears fluttering at flies. A splash of rain fell upon its head, and the rabbit decided today it would just have a lie in.

"Damn it all,"Arthur cursed as the old wooden stairs below him spun in twisted circles, making his stomach flip intensely. Taking a deep breath to calm it (and keep his lunch down) he gripped the handrail harder in his sweaty grasp, desperately trying to stop his swaying legs from pulling himself forward and tumbling down the hard stairs. One step at a time, don't rush and he wouldn't fall. That was the theory anyway. Finally reaching the ground floor, Arthur fell onto the wall, using it to steady himself as he wobbled down the darkening corridor and into the quiet kitchen.

The cold oak flooring felt like heaven on his blazing skin but Arthur couldn't stay here, he needed to retrieve the painting. He'd spent hours on it and to lose it now was unthinkable. Leaning on the kitchen counter the panting nation took hold of his muddy green wellies in shaking hands, slipping them onto his feet. Another rumble of thunder made Arthur jump, but he quickly sprung into gear, still using the counter for support he hastened his pace around to the back door flinging it open and grabbing the umbrella.

"Just give me a second, ok?" He glanced up at the heavens, "I ask for nothing more than that," Opening the brolly he stepped into the garden. Arthur tumbled sideways as the world tipped dangerously. "Damn it" He pushed his legs forward, falling down the pathway "Almost there" He growled, staggering on until his hand met the wooden building. Collapsing against the wood, the nation slapped shut the oils and emptied the beaker, deciding that he could leave it and the brushes in the hut. Reaching down to pick the sheet to cover the canvas Arthur blinked, finding himself on laying his side.

"Wha…?" The sky moaned above, warning him of the little time left. Struggling to his knees the Englishman scooped up the sheet, flinging it over the painting. "Ok lad, nice and eas,y" He whispered as he used the small chair to pull himself up onto his far from steady feet, "That's it, now let's go," Tucking the canvas underarm and holding the oils, he pick up the upturned umbrella and fell out of the hut, his knees threatening to sag under his weight while he juggled the items in hands. A fat drop of water hit the umbrella material with force, making Arthur tuck the painting closer to him. The path had never seemed so long, he felt like he was running the London marathon. Finally, he collapsed inside, using his foot to slam the door shut. Then he just lay there on the floor, too tired to be bothered about moving.

"Angleterre?" Arthur jumped, blinking up at the person towering over him, long golden hair falling around their face.

"Francis," He growled under his breath, just what he needed. "What are _you _doing here?" The Frenchman raised an eyebrow, putting his hands over his hips and tutting.

"_You _invited me over, remember?" Arthur frowned, when had he done that?

"Oh," Was all he could muster, laying his arm over his eyes. A sudden slap on the forehead made him yelp in surprise, lifting his arm away to glance at the Frenchman, who had his hand on the Brits forehead.

"Really now Angleterre, you shouldn't be up," Francis pulled his hand away after feeling the heat radiate from Arthur, worry present in his eyes and his voice full of concern, "You have a fever, you need to be in bed"

"It was raining," He muttered, as if that would explain all. Francis knelt down, his calm blue eyes running over his friend. Arthur was dressed in a simple navy blue V-neck jumper with a white shirt beneath, the collar pulled out so it was covering the jumper's neck. Brown trousers clad his shaking legs with a few small smudges of paint merged into the fabric and a pair of filthy green Wellington boots covered his feet. Arthur's face was flushed, but the skin underneath was marble white, his messy hair sticking to his face. His chest heaved as he struggled for laboured breath and his usually bright green eyes were a murky green.

"Let's get you to bed, mon ami"

* * *

"Bog off Francis," Said person chuckled as he rung out the flannel, placing it on the Brits fevered face. Arthur was now dressed in plain red pyjamas, a thin sheet covering his weak body to keep out chill.

"Sorry, mon ami, I'm not going anywhere," Arthur groaned, turning his head away, the flannel sliding off onto the many pillows stacked behind his head. Francis sighed; replacing the cloth, "S'il vous plait, you need to keep that on, it'll help cool down the fever," Arthur murmured something untranslatable before drifting off to sleep, unable to keep his heavy eyes open for a moment longer.

Francis leant back in his chair, listening to Arthur's ragged breathing. Outside, the rain battered at the house, the window pane singing with each hit. Beyond the garden, Francis could see a group of girls running out into the fields to get their freckled horses out of the rain. Francis sighed, leaning back into the chair.

The quiet was broken by a tinny, loud and _very _inappropriate tune.

Francis jumped at the sound. Glancing over the Arthur to check he hadn't woken up, he grabbed his phone, flipping it open.

"Bonjour?"

"France? It's America!" Replied the chirpy voice. Francis rubbed his temples, why could he already feel a headache coming on?

"Umm, Alfred I'm busy-"

"Ok, question. Where of Earth is the meeting next week?" The American butted in, Francis could practically see him sitting on his sofa, head cocked in confusion and his free hand scratching it.

"Huh?" Francis gave a confused look, slightly taken back by the interruption and sudden question.

"The meeting, where is it? I've asked _everyone…_Except Russia…and his sister…and England, oh! And that person, what was his name…Mike? Mark? The one with the curl? Hey funny moment yesterday, I had this curly fry and it looked just like a-"

"_Alfred" _France finally snapped, "The next meeting is at _your_ place because _you_ kept whining about how we treated you as a child. Is it any wonder? Honestly-"

"Hmm," Francis froze, his rant dying on his lips. Dammit, Arthur had just gone to sleep as well.

"Hello?" Alfred whined, "Come on France, I wasn't that bad…Hello?"

"Shh, Arthur go back to sleep," Francis hushed, ignoring America and running a hand through the blonds hair, relaxing the Brit back to unconsciousness.

"Francis…Are you sleeping with Arthur?"

"Non, non," Francis scolded, "I'm just looking after him until he gets better"

"What? What's happened? Is he ok?" Alfred's voice took on a concerned tone, "Was it his cooking? I knew it was dangerous. Damn! I should've…If I had known that…"

"Non, Alfred, it wasn't his cooking. He has a fever that's all-"

"I'll be right over," Francis sat up abruptly, eyes wide in a mix of horror and fear.

"There's really no need to, I can handle him," He reassured desperately. Arthur needed quietness, someone with patience…basically everything Alfred wasn't.

"I'm coming! I'm the hero after all!" With that, the American hung up. Francis closed his eyes._ What have I got myself into?_

* * *

It was hot, incredibly and uncomfortably hot. The sheet covering made him feel like he was suffocating, Arthur struggled to push it away, but each time he did they were just replaced and someone would hold his hands away, making odd noises. Arthur struggled against them until a hand was placed on his head.

"Hmm," Arthur felt his body grow weary, settling back into the pillows.

"Shh, Angleterre, go to sleep," Said a voice, and that's exactly what Arthur did.

* * *

"Hello?" Alfred stepped into the silent house. It had taken him just over two hours to get there, which was impressive but he was a hero after all. "Hello?" He called again. Silence. _Ok, don't panic. __This is__ England's house so there absolutely no monst-_

A hand touched his shoulder. Alfred let out a totally manly and not at all girly scream, spinning around to face 'the beast'.

"Être calme," Francis hissed, frowning deeply and indicating up at Arthur's room upstairs, "He's asleep"

"How is he?" Alfred asked, worried. Francis just shook his head, leading them up the stairs, in his hands a bowl of water.

"Not good, his temperature keeps going up," Using his hip he nudged open the door. Alfred followed Francis in, stepping into the surprisingly small room. His feet froze on the spot at the sight of England. The nation was buried beneath a thin white blanket which reminded Alfred of hospital. A wet cloth was placed over his red tinged forehead, water droplets scattered over his rosy cheeks. Alfred gulped. He looked so _small_. He was used to England marching around, telling him off for eating rubbish food. But here he laid, all his features filled with fever indicating the sickness that had temporarily overtaken his body.

It was strange feeling knowing this was the same man. Slowly, he crept over to his side, placing the back of his hand on the man's cheek. A roaring heat made him withdraws quickly, giving a small _'_hiss' under his breath.

"Mmm," Arthur turned his head towards them, not quite processing what was going on, "Wha…?"

"Shh, it's ok," Alfred said softly, "It's me, Alfred, I here now," Arthur semi-focused onto him, his eyes weighted down with tiredness and confusion.

"Al…" His voice sounded hoarse and strained, giving up on him as he tried to speak.

"Shh, I'm here," He adjusted the flannel, patting Arthur's head with it in a vain attempt to cool him down. Arthur's eyes drifted closed his head dropping into the pillows.

"Pauvres Angleterre," Francis whispered before disappearing out the room to get another chair for Alfred. Alfred knelt beside the bed, re-wetting the flannel in the fresh water and stroking it against the fevered man. Small rivers ran down the side of his head, disappearing in the neckline of England's pyjamas. Arthur groaned weakly in his sleep.

"Shh," Alfred soothed, "Shh, I'm right here"

* * *

**I hope you liked it, please review.**

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**Sukuangtou.**


	2. Chapter 2

Cars, vans and lorries spend by the lone, grey building, making their way along the busy motorway. The wail of sirens filled the air constantly, like a banshee screaming and the sky remained its fixed depressed colour. The veins of the building whirred with its blood of people, many of them with expressions that matched the sky. The days here were long and grim, taking its toll on the workers. In one of the limbs of the building was a plain room, in the middle of a plain corridor. The walls were dirty white, as was the floor, the bed and the sheets.

The window was wet from the constant rain, but remained open so the room was kept cool. The curtains looked almost sickly, hanging limply from the hangers like dead leaves. The bedside table stood lonely in the corner of the room, upon it a glass vase with drooping red roses from a faraway garden, their petals dropping one by one as their condition deteriorated. Computers beeped and ticked by the bed, coloured lines jogging up and down across the screen, their wires tumbling down until they met skin, which slowly rose and fell weakly, sweat covering it in a second layer.

Francis sat on one of the hospital chairs which he'd scraped across to Arthur's bedside, the scratch marks on the floor evidence of this. Gently, he ran his hand over the Englishman's hair, reassuring Arthur that he was there, as well as himself. Behind, the heart monitor continued its slow but constant drone, each deep teasing Francis, reminding him that his dear friend was only clinging onto reality. Beneath his hand Arthur stirred, turning his head away from Francis and cracking open his unseeing eyes, revealing cloudy teal orbs. Francis felt his heart-break at the sight of his confused and delirious friend.

"Fairies," Arthur whispered, making France blink before smiling sadly.

"Yes, they are worried about you," He went back to stroking the Brits hair, "I remember when I first found you; you were always talking about them, and the unicorns. You were so tiny back then, and so cute! You reminded me of a kitten, so feisty and determined, yet so weak. You had a mouth on you though, always swearing at me. That hasn't changed much," Arthur turned his head to Francis, but his eyes stared past his shoulder.

"Fairies," He muttered again. France's eyes dropped and he swallowed the lump in his throat away.

"Like I said, their worried about you, so you had better get better," He took Arthur's limp hand in his own, "When you were little I heard you promise them that you were not going to leave them, you're not going to let some fever break that promise are you? You're stronger than that"

"France?" Said person glanced up to see America in the doorway, "Go get something to eat, you haven't eaten anything since yesterday," France nodded mutely, getting up from the chair and running his hand over Arthur's face again.

"I'll be back later," He whispered, leaning close to Arthur before heading out the room and out into the corridor. Behind him, Alfred went and sat in the chair and mimicked the position he'd just been in.

"France," A weak voice murmured in the room.

"Yeah, he'll be back later Iggy. Shh, go to sleep," The American whispered. That did it, and France found himself standing in the middle of the corridor, tears flowing down his face.

"Papa?" A quiet voice asked next to him, Francis smiles softly.

"Mathew," Mathew glanced into the room, his eyes settling onto the nation. Silently, he took hold of his Fathers hand and led him down to the men's toilets before taking the man into his arms, letting France cry on his shoulder.

* * *

"France"

"Yeah, he'll be back later Iggy, Shh, go to sleep," Alfred shushed, making his former big brother turn his unfocused gaze to him. Alfred looked away, watching as his twin took Francis away. He couldn't stand those eyes. They were just so…So surreal without their bright twinkle or warmth. Arthur's face was pained and exhausted, flushed from the fevers terror. His hair was greasy, sticking up at odd angles and knots.

"Fairies," Arthur took his hand away from Alfred's, reaching out at the wires and computers, his fingers tangling the red and blue strips together. Alfred gently clasped Arthur's hand away.

"Leave them alone Arthur," England frowned at him.

"Fairies," He repeated and then tried to move his hand back.

"No Arthur," Alfred tried again, his voice a little more stern but the quiet smile never leaving his face, "The fairies are tired because they've been worried about you, let them get some rest," He turned to the wires, deciding to play along, "I'll watch him, go and get some rest," America then watched for Arthur's reaction. The murky green eyes darted from him to the wires and back again.

"Nnn," Arthur suddenly whined, kicking his legs making the sheet fall of the bed, "Hot"

"I know," Alfred picked up the material, standing to place it back over Arthur, "But you need to keep this on Arthur, for me?"

"Mm," Arthur twisted onto his side, straining some of the wires. Sighing, Alfred gently but firmly took Arthur's shoulder and rolled him back onto his back.

"Stay like this Arthur," Alfred tucked the sheet around his shoulders, "Try and get some sleep," Arthur turned his head to him.

"Stay?" he asked innocently, his eyes like a pleading child. Alfred's features stiffened, he hated this. All he wanted was for his Arthur to be back again. The sick nation gave a hurt whine, looking at him with confusion.

"Of course," He whispered, leaning down and pressing their heads together, making Arthur ghost a smile before his eyes disappeared behind their lids.

* * *

"What do they think is wrong with him?" The Canadian asked as he cleaned up his Papa's face with some tissue. France swallowed.

"They did some blood samples and there is some sort of chemical," Mathew gave him a look of horror.

"Drugs?" his Papa shook his head.

"Non, they did tests on it and found out it was fertiliser. What we are guessing is that someone is dumping large amounts of fertiliser in underground river systems, which is affecting Arthur. He's lucky he's a nation otherwise it would be killing him, though the side effects aren't exactly great are they?"

"No, they aren't. Come on," He placed a hand on Francis' shoulder, "Let's get something to eat," The two made their way down to the canteen.

* * *

"Bloody hell," Scotland muttered as he stared out of the window at the bleak world outside, "Have they found out who is dumping it yet?" America removed his glasses from his face, cleaning them with the hem of his checked shirt, and shook his head.

"France and I would like to help, but we're needed here. Arthur's delirious and doesn't settle easily," America's baby blues settled onto the sleeping form as he placed his glasses back into place, giving England's hand a squeeze.

"You make him sound like he's a child," Scotland smirked, settling into the chair next to the American, but his eyes softened as he watched Arthur's laboured breath.

"That's probably the best way to think about it," Alfred chuckled, "I had to talk to his fairies earlier," Scotland laughed deeply.

"Yeah, him and his fairies. He used to see this troll thing when he was tiny; he called it something weird as well…Damn what was it?" Scotland though for a moment before clicking his fingers "That's it, none of us could pronounce it. I was something like Michelangelo, but said oddly"

"Like the turtle?" Scotland chuckled again but was cut off as a low moan emitted from the fevered nation.

"Artie?" Scotland placed his hand on Arthur's leg. The man stirred, his head turning towards the door, his glazed eyes splitting open.

"Cat," He whispered, making both nations blink at him, glancing to the corner Arthur was looking at.

"Go to sleep Iggy," Alfred placed his hand on Arthur's forehead, stroking him with his thumb while feeling the heat radiating from England's fragile body. Arthur's eyes turned from the 'cat' to Scotland, his pupils dilated.

"Brother?" Scotland managed a weak smile, rubbing his hand on the Brits leg.

"The one and only," Arthur blinked before turning his head away again.

"Cat," He pointed out to his older brother.

"Yeah, I see it Arthur. Get some sleep"

"See what I mean?" Alfred said once Arthur's eyes had closed.

"Wales and I will get to work catching the bugger, though he may arrive to the police station a little battered," Scotland growled.

* * *

_It was like he was chained up against a flaming brick wall, scorching his back and burning his skin. The world around him echoed and bounced around the walls of his mind, all the words mixing together to create one big noise and every time he tried to talk his throat erupted in pain._

"_Arthur"_

_The voice called out, and Arthur felt something settle on his hair and begin to stroke. He tried once again to release himself from the tight chains. A hand suddenly gripped his wrists and the world went bright._

"_Arthur,"_ A voice bubbled next to him, making said person turn his head toward the sound. Above him a blurred person was leaning over, their fuzzed mouth moving but no sound coming out. A flutter of movement caught his attention, making him move his head away, his eyes falling upon the end of the bed. A long black creature was wrapped around the metal bars, its eyes narrow and an angry red. A forked tongue flicked at him as the creature lifted its head at him, hissing madly.

"Snake," He croaked, trying to sit up but hands held him down, muddled words trying to shush him, but Arthur was having none of it. He pushed back the hands away and pulled himself off the bed with a heavy _thump _onto the cold floor. The snake watched him then moved so it was covering the entire bed, stretching out in the warm spot. Arms suddenly wrapped themselves around Arthur's torso, pulling him to the bed.

"No!" He shouted, struggling in the grip, tears streaming down his face. The snake opened his mouth wide, revealing dagger fangs dripping with yellow venom. "Please" He croaked, sinking to the floor and curling into a ball. Arms snaked around him again, but this time he was pulled onto someone's lap, their hands rubbing his back while they spoke confusing words in his ear.

He wanted to go home.

* * *

Scotland had never been great at comforting people, but with his baby brother weeping his heart out on his lap, he vowed to get the guy who had done this. His eyes locked with America, who was knelt beside them, and both made the silent promise.

* * *

**Chapter two done! I hope you liked it.**

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**Sorry for any spelling errors.**

**Please review.**

**Sukuangtou.**


	3. Chapter 3

The window was closed for the first time that day, but the curtains remained open, letting the bright glowing disk high up in the black send it its holy beams onto the resting figure in the bed. The blond lay silent, propped up slightly by a stack of pillows behind his head. The pearly white fingers of the shining orb paling the already white features until he looked like a long lost ghost. Once bright, twinkled eyes where now hidden behind long eyelashes, closed until their owner awoke from their prolonged sleep. In the crook of one long, silver arm a small needle was feeding him transparent fluids while the other chalk-coloured limb lay across his stomach, his hand limp and lifeless as it hangs over the blonde's hip. Across his face a clear mask provided him with a constant flow of oxygen, but was ready for a sedative to be added if needed.

The night's sun continued its stare at the man, watching as the sleeping Englishman struggled for breath, his chest heaving with the effort. Its rays tickled at the still skin, which it kissed at the frail being, before turning its gaze away from the ever busy building, its eyes in the sky following down the motorways, into the small country lanes and deep into the heart of England. Its light flooded the fields, the crops swaying in the slight night breeze. It watched as a barn owl swooped silently under its care, flowing over the churned up land with the gentile grace of a ballerina before landing on the still branch of proud, ageing tree.

The owl's deep eyes blinked wisely, twisting its head around the enclosed garden. The ground below its feet was unmoving, with only the cool, forming dew sliding down the hairs of grass creating movement. But then the peace was erupted into a bright, harsh light, shadows dancing across the dew, causing small black demons to skip within the pools of water. Blinking once more, the owl lifted its heavy head, taking off over the bushes and away into the night.

France took the seat opposite America at the kitchen table, his face not quite disgusted, but none to please either. In front, Alfred was eagerly unpacking the miles of wrapping that contained his nice, greasy cheese burger, slightly squished from its journey to Arthur's small cottage.

"Not hungry?" Alfred cocked his head at him, "I know you didn't eat much earlier, Matt told me so, so eat up!" France stared at him, then at his…Food. It sat there on his plate, the increasing puddle of grease beneath slowly spreading over the white surface like a title wave before crashing into the fries, smearing into a mixture of juices. France grimaced, people really ate this?

"I think I'd just prefer to go to bed-"He started but was cut off by a stern voice.

"I'll tell Matt," Alfred threatened, "He's only in the shower, all I need to do is shout," He raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms. France whined like a child refusing to eat his vegetables.

"But…But-"

"Eat your dinner," France grumbled, annoyed, under his breath, raising the bun to his lips. He'd just close his eyes and think of France.

* * *

America stretched from his position on the light cream leather sofa that sat against the dark oak walls, which gleamed in the firelight, age having deepened the old building and making the room feel warm and comfortable. Beneath, the soft white carpet swept over the equally old floorboards, stretching out like a never ending sea. The other side of the little room a grey and red brick fireplace was alive with a gentile fire, above the framed pictures dancing with the flickering flames, smiling frozen faces beaming at the people in the room.

To Americas right there was a panned window with wooden boarders, the red curtains held back showing the night's sky, the moon set high in the endless vortex of black. In the corner by the window, the TV hummed as David Attenborough explained the wonders of Africa. Next to him, Matthew was curled up, his legs tucked beneath him and his head resting on Alfred's shoulder, making him smile as he heard his brother's soft snores. On a matching leather armchair at the other end of the room, France sat crossed legged, a cup of tea on the coffee table next to him, his eyes blue watching the screen, enlightened by the pictures.

Alfred smiled again, but he couldn't help but feel an ache in his chest as his eyes settled on the empty spot the other side of him. Half blaming the feeling on dodgy burgers he couldn't stop his thoughts drifting to Arthur, who lay in his hospital bed, completely alone. The nurse caring for Arthur had lectured them on needing their sleep, sending them home like naughty school boys and with the promise that if anything happened she's call them. But still, Arthur was in a place he didn't properly recognise, hallucinating and confused. Alfred didn't notice France moving until he'd plonked himself down in Arthur's spot.

"Stop it," He scolded, "You won't do him any good by fretting," Francis lent back into the couch, taking the remote and flicking onto BBC 1.

"I'm not fretting," Alfred pouted, turning his gaze onto the screen, "A hero doesn't-"

"Shh," France waved his hand in his face, shushing him and then pointing to the TV.

"Now for the main news," The woman turned her gaze from the papers on the desk in front of her to the camera, "Rivers across the country have been found with an increasing amount of fertiliser, poisoning eco-systems and causing the population of fish and other river wildlife to decrease dramatically. Conservationists are now working on catching and preserving the wildlife in the highest effected areas. Head of police, James lee, gave a statement earlier today, saying that factories should check their machineries and they were in the process of finding the people responsible. The chemical hasn't gotten into drinking water supplies. In other news…"

"That's going to cause panic," A small voice muttered into America's shoulder, making Alfred jump and blink at him.

"Yeah, but more people trying to fix the problem, the better for Arthur"

* * *

Where was he?

Why was he here?

What's going on?

Arthur gazed feverishly around the coal coloured room, sounds swirling around his head like a thunderous whirlpool, plummeting into the inside of his skull with full force. Twisting his head, the room lurched in a pain filled pulse, making him gasp in desperation to hold his stomach together. Outside the room people ran, wheeling a bed along the corridor. Arthur could hear the skin-crawling screeching of the wheels on the horrendously clean floor below, as if they were locked and unable to turn in their sockets. He could hear men shouting, their breath panting as they sprinted, woman calling over the top in one mess of noise, words untranslatable and sentences muddled like scattered jigsaw pieces. Inside the room, the machines bellowed in his ear, shouting at him like they were expecting him to do their bidding, reminding Arthur of sergeants in American war films. He could feel their fingers grabbing at his skin, holding him, restricting movement whichever way he turned.

"Please," He begged, holding his head in his hands, using his arms to cover his ears as he felt his brain blast around his skull.

Stop it.

Stop it.

_Stop it._

It was far too loud, the people, the wheels, machines all pouring deafening sound into his head and spinning noise around like a tornado cutting through a town. Curling into a ball, Arthur desperately cried into the crumpled pillow, seeking any kind of peace. He got the opposite. The computer began to wail, long and mournful like a sound he'd heard so many years before, making Arthur convulse on the bed, liquid filling his mouth. Gold flung into the room and hands rolled him onto his side, removing something from his face, but all he could see was red. Deep, dark crimson that suffocated all other colours until darkness finally won over, and Arthur floated into his memories.

"_Don't__ just stand there,"_ _He boomed at the obviously petrified girl who stood in the middle of the road, the house behind screaming in flames as demons tumbled their way to the ground around them, hitting with all the impact they could. The air was thick with the__ sound of engines, like a swarm of furious wasps attacking anything they could and abusing their power of control over the helpless beings below. Screams, shouts were everywhere but nothing could override the painful weeping of sirens, their wails like dyi__ng creatures. People sprinted left, right and centre in shell-shocked confusion, their eyes dazed and glazed as their lives were torn away by one simple, bullet shape cone. The girl just watched him as he hurried her away from her home, guiding her from th__e erupting volcanoes spewing out wood and brick._

"_Rachel!" A cry called out, making the girl freeze, eyes widening._

"_Mama!" She replied, leaving Arthur's grasp and disappearing around a corner. Arthur stepped forward to follow, but found his legs unable to move as everything tipped dangerously to his left. Something warm was trickling down his chest, sucking his shirt to his skin in cherry coloured glue. Precious blood began to rise in the back of his throat, dribbling down the corner of his mouth. His people moved around him, children clutching toys and pillows, mothers rocking them and muttering unconvincing words in their ears while fathers held them, sheltering them from the hell._

_This was hell._

_But it was also war._

_And, damn it all, he was going to win._

_The world around drained its colour like a painting with its oils washing away. As his head smacked into ground, the only sound heard was a constant howl._

_And he swore a promise to his people._

_They will win._

* * *

Matthew had been sleeping peacefully within the warm, comfortable bed; his head snuggled into the pillows while his hands clutched at the duvet in his sleep. 'Had' being the key word though, as now he was standing in the cold, empty corridor with nothing but his maple leaf pyjamas around him, hand clutching the phone. At the top of the stairs France groggily leant against a dozing America, waiting to hear the outcome of the late night telephone call.

"Ok, thank you," He whispered, slotting the phone back into place.

"Well?" Alfred stretched, yawning deeply and ruffling his own hair. Matthew glanced up at them, his blinking harshly.

"It's Arthur…" France's head snapped up from Alfred's shoulder.

"What's happened?"

"He's gotten worse, Papa, a lot worse"

* * *

**Slightly shorter chapter, I know. Sorry! I'm super busy at the moment and I'm ill (the joy) meaning I may not get a chance to upload the next chapter (Still a work in progress) so give me time. **

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**Sorry for any spelling errors.**

**Please review.**

**Sukuangtou.**


	4. Chapter 4

The Dancing Horse pub glowed peach-pink in the early morning sun; its eyes closed with fading red curtains and beneath messy window boxes were awakening with vibrant golds, violets and ruby. The simple brown door sat quietly, snuggled between the sturdy brickwork of the building, the morning post poking halfway out the little black letter box.

Opposite, houses dozed as the small percentage of the human population slept within their bodies. A dappled feline sat on a grey doorstep by the pints of bottled milk, flicking its tail elegantly as it cleaned its ears before trotting out the tiny garden and across the road for its daily stroll around the village. It spared a moment to gaze up at the ginger-haired man sitting at one of the pub tables, smoking a cigarette deeply and his ear to a phone. Sneezing as the strong scent hit its delicate pink-tinged nose, the cat continued on its way, disappearing into the bushes.

"The doctor said that his condition will continue to worsen if it isn't sorted soon," The Frenchman voice echoed down the phone, his accent thick with concern. Scotland took in a long drag of smoke, holding it in for a moment before puffing it out like a dragon, watching it swirl in the early morning breeze.

"We're doing our best," He answered, tapping the cigarette over a glass ashtray, "We have managed to narrow the source down to one river meaning we can trace people's movements along the stretch of water. Wales will be helping the river conservationist later this morning, so by the end of the day it should just be isolated to the one stretch of river," Scotland paused to take in another lungful of smoke, letting it calm himself, "So how is Arthur?" Francis released a tired sigh.

"Bad. His temperature rose dramatically in the night and we can't get him to settle. Alfred and Matthew are with him now," The eldest Kirkland brother swallowed to remove the sickly lump in his throat.

"Don't worry, I'll get them."

* * *

"Shh, Arthur, it's ok," Mathew gently rocked back and forth, cradling the exhausted nation in his arms. From his position sitting crossed-legged on the stiff hospital bed he could see America outside the room through the window in the grubby white door, pacing as he explained to Germany why they wouldn't be at the meeting today. From the looks of Alfred's face, several other nations kept snatching the phone away from whoever was talking, making it difficult for Alfred to get his point across.

"Bombs…" The sick nation mumbled under his breath, struggling between fantasy and reality. He grasped at the mint green jumper Mathew wore, snuggling his face into the younger nation's chest, dazed and confused, "F…France, he's-"

"He's fine Arthur," The Canadian soothed, rubbing Arthur's back with long, comforting strokes, "Everybody is completely fine. You're not at war, you're with me,"

"M-Mathew?" Glazed forest eyes groggily settled on him, heavy with fatigued.

"Yes, it's me. Shh, go to sleep," Manoeuvring England's head so it was resting on his shoulder, Canada began to gently hum in the back of his throat, continuing to rock until he eventually settled the elder into a hopefully dreamless sleep.

Letting out a sigh he didn't know he'd been holding Mathew lent his head on the frame of the bed, staring up at the dirty ceiling above his head. Outside, America continued his futile attempt to get the message across to Germany, Alfred now struggling to keep his voice down as his frustration grew.

"Mathew?" A quiet voice asked as the sound of the door opening filled the otherwise silent room. Said person turned his head to face the elder, smiling softly at them, "How is he?"

"Asleep, finally," He answered, watching the blond settle in an uncomfortable plastic chair to his right, "Though he will probably wake up again soon from another nightmare"

"He was always having nightmares," France sighed, leaning backwards and crossing his arms over his chest, thinking deeply, "Even when he was little, I would wake and find him in my bed"

"Didn't you mind, him letting himself into your room?"

"No, he was too adorable for me to mind," He smiled, his eyes wandering to the Brit's peaceful face.

"_Shh, shh, don't cry mon petite lapin," France soothed, cradling the toddler close to his chest as the other wept, "Big brother's here, shh, tell me what happened," Hiccupping into the material of his night shirt, the messy-haired blond glanced up at him with giant watery eyes, bottom lip trembling. _

"_T-there was a monster and…And h-he cased me," Fresh tears spurted from his forest orbs despite his futile efforts to calm himself. His shaking hand reached up to rub one of his eyes, sniffing terribly and whimpering in the back of his throat. Francis hushed him again, using his sleeve to wipe the tears from his damp cheeks. Arthur cuddled close to him, the fright of having seen a 'monster' causing him to become more clingy than usual, seeking comfort from the older nation. _

"_Would you like to sleep in my room tonight?" France offered, resting his chin upon England's little head while rocking back and forth to help soothe the child. Feeling Arthur shake his head, Francis frowned, drawing back to face him, "Are you sure, mon lapin? You don't have to sleep in your own bed if you don't want to," Again, Arthur shook his head as he stuck in thumb into his mouth._

"_No…Big boy" Chuckling, France stood placing the tot on his hip and nuzzling their faces together._

"_Oui, you are a big boy, who else could outrun a monster?"_

"_Me!" England giggled, rubbing his face into the crook of France's neck, "I can!" Crossing the room, the elder carefully set the toddler down onto the small cot he'd made soon after finding the child, tucking him under the cosy blanket and whispering calming words until Arthur eyelids were drooping heavily. _

"_Bon nit, mon petite lapin," He smiled gently, rising and tip-toeing from the room, closing the door behind him. Yawning to himself, Francis went over to his own bed, settling under the warm covers. He listened for a while, to see if Arthur changed his mind and decided to join him, but after a few minutes the call of sleep took over him, fading the world to black. _

_Morning was announced by the chip-chip of calling birds that danced around his window in the morning sun, catching the buzzing bugs that flew in the columns of light created by the branches of the forest. Fresh air felt freezing against his skin, causing the nation to sink further under the blanket, seeking warmth in his half-asleep daze. His hand, as it reached to pull down his sleeve which had scrunched up by his elbow in the night, brushed against a mound of fuzz, causing him to jerk upright, wide awake at the thought of an animal in his bed. Cautiously, he peeled back the covers, ready to grab whatever creature was curled up next to him._

_But since when were animals blond?_

_Blinking, Francis stared down at the toddler wrapped around his side, snoring peacefully and drooling out of the corner of his mouth. His shoulders rose and fell with each content breath, only being disrupted when he wriggled closer to him as the blanket was moved away._

"_Mon petite lapin," France sighed, the corners of his lips tugging upwards, "You only had to ask," Lying back down, Francis snaked his arms around the child, bringing him up so he rested against his shoulder and snuggling them under the quilt. Arthur moved closer to him, placing his thumb into his mouth before drifting back into the deepness of sleep. Grinning, Francis nestled into the unruly caramel locks, breathing in the smell of the woods._

_He could get used to this. _

* * *

**Ok, I haven't updated this story in a long time, for which I apologise. What happened? I'm smack bang in the middle of my exams, which I need to revise for. I will try my best to keep all my storied updated but there may be gaps between uploads, so sorry in advance!**

**Anyway, after this chapter the story is going to be moving along (please note I've changed the summery) so please do stick around! Also, please check out my other stories! **

**Sorry for any spelling errors.**

**I don't own Hetalia.**

**Please review!**

**Sukuangtou**


	5. Author's Note

**Dear readers,**

**First of all, I am so sorry for the wait. I have been busy out of my mind recently as I had to: Study for exams, do the exams, get my exam results and sort out where I will be heading next in education. I also have been on holiday which is why I couldn't get this up sooner. **

**Secondly, this story. I know there's quite a few people reading and following this, but for a while this will be going onto a hiatus. Why? I've lost inspiration which means writing this feels more of a chore than hobby which affects my quality of writing. I did have this story plotted out so I knew what was going to happen and when, but looking at it now, I hate it. There is a possibility I might take it down and completely re-do it if I ever think of a direction to take this in – If I do then I will let you know.**

**If anyone has any ideas, please let me know via PM. **

**Sorry again.**

**Sukuangtou**


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